This is my first post as a guest blogger on BAP this week. I'll be talking about my farm, poetry, and anything else that occurs to me.
For almost two years, I've lived on a small acreage in Red Lion, Pennsylvania, about 30 miles south of Harrisburg. My husband Rick and I spent most of our lives in Harford County, Maryland -- a once-rural place that has become, unfortunately, a perfect argument against out-of-control development, strip-mall blight, insane traffic, overpriced McMansions, and all of the consequent ills that come from an inadequate infrastructure and too damn many people. We remembered, though, what the area had been when we were children - a place full of farms and fields and wonderful woods for kids to tramp through. In memory, it was idyllic; it was safe; there were no deer ticks or poison ivy. We dreamed about the day we could move away from surburbia (usually when our next-door-neighbor had a party) and find our own version of God's little acre.